Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair

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Despite the wind, the air was still hot and humid, the whirring of the night insects strong in Rachel’s ears as she stared out beyond the reassuring circle of light. She could hear the sucking sound of the water, but it was too dark to see much more. Yet all around her the garden seemed alive with an odd kind of excitement, an excitement that couldn’t help but quicken her awareness of the man beside her.

‘I keep a boat here sometimes,’ Joe offered as she went to grip the wooden rail that separated the terrace from a veritable jungle of tropical vegetation. Thick vines bent in the wind, scattering raindrops in all directions. ‘Be careful,’ he warned as she moved to where a flight of steps disappeared into the darkness. ‘It rained earlier, and they’re probably slippery as hell.’

Rachel decided to take his advice and stay where she was. Much as she would have liked to go farther, she would prefer to do so in daylight when she could see where she was putting her feet. Not all visitors to the garden would be friendly, she reflected. She could imagine how she’d feel if she stepped on a snake or a huge spider.

‘The dock is at the other end of the garden,’ said Joe, touching her elbow. ‘I’d show you, but we’d both get soaked to the skin.’

Which was as good an excuse as any to take their clothes off, he thought, even if getting naked with Rachel might not be such a good idea. He’d promised her dinner; that had been all. And he was trying to keep his word.

Nevertheless, showing her the house at night when he’d known Ramon and his wife, who looked after the place for him, had retired to their quarters in the grounds wasn’t the wisest idea he’d ever had. Not when Rachel was looking so delectable, her silky hair tumbled by the wind.

He closed and locked the French doors after they’d returned to the house, and then followed Rachel back into the entrance hall. He watched as she looked about her, studying her surroundings, touching the delicate petals of an orchid, gliding her fingers over the polished surface of a chest his father had brought back from Venezuela.